


Burning Hands, Hearts, and Cookies

by PennamePersona



Series: Clinic AU [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Burns, But Karkat still has to patch John up, Clinc AU, Cookies, Fluff, Humanstuck, John is a dork, Karkat is a dork, M/M, No Game AU, They aren't in the clinic in this one either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 07:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennamePersona/pseuds/PennamePersona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is Karkat's day off, which makes it an inherently beautiful day. He's spending it with John, too, so now it's gorgeous. They are going to bake cookies and it is going to be so romantic and stupid, the best possible use of a day off of work ever. No arguments.</p><p>Except for the part that Karkat should totally have seen coming. The part where John is himself, things happen, there is a bit of burning, but hey. Baking cookies with John Egbert is something that is going to involve burning, alright? This is probably also an inherent fact. It doesn't make the time that they spend together any less enjoyable, though!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning Hands, Hearts, and Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey, look at this fic that's been sitting in my drafts for a while! Look at me posting it! Woohoo, and it's even fluff, like, real fluff. There's not really an introspection in this one at all, I think. Or if there is, it is very small! This is honest fluff, and it is dedicated to ThatCreepyGothDragon's lamp. It is the comment I received explaining the poor thing's demise that gave me the motivation to finish this up, so, thank you, lamp. Your sacrifice has been noted.

Today is supposed to be a glorious day, fantastic in all respects. It is a Saturday, which normally means that you have a shortened shift, which is good enough on its own. But today is even better than normal. You are currently experiencing the rarest and most beautiful of Saturdays, those that come only once every few months.

You don't have to work at all today. It is your day off, it is a Saturday, and to make it even better (something you were not previously aware was possible), you are spending the day with John. The two of you are even baking cookies, which is such a stupidly cliché, romantic thing to do. (It was his idea, and you are absolutely loving it).

 All of this adds up to what would surely have been the best day of your entire year. And yet, though the day is going nicely, you can't help but feel a bit cheated. It is your day off from the clinic, and yet, here you are, a first aid kit open next to you, wrapping a bandage around the hand of your most frequent patient.

 Because John, to the surprise of absolutely fucking _no one_ , has burnt his hand rather spectacularly on the oven. Or, more specifically, on the cookie tray he was pulling out of the oven. 

 "You're a complete idiot," You say, carefully wrapping gauze over his hand.

 "Ah, yes, but I am your idiot." He says, grinning down at you from his spot atop the counter, seeming unfazed by the burn, which you are sure must hurt. Fucking moron.

 "Are you implying that dating me is what caused this particular lapse in judgement?" You ask, tying up the gauze. "Alright, don't mess with that. I'll replace it when it needs it, I'll apply the ointment, just don't touch it."

 "Yeah, yeah," He says, rolling his eyes. "I have had burns before, you know."

 "I know." You say, trying for a proper deadpan and getting a sort of soft affection in your voice instead. "I've treated them."

 You look at him, and it's another of those stupid moments, the kind that you're still not 100% sure how to process. It's just the two of you looking at each other, smiling, and there's a warm fluttering inside you that you're still getting used to being okay with. 

 "It is your fault, you know," He says, not breaking eye contact, so you see the little glimmer of mischief when it appears.

 "How so?" You ask, raising an eyebrow.

 "Well, if you weren't so distracting, I would have remembered to use the oven mitt!" He says, looking at you in that ridiculous way that you know is meant to be serious. You really can't take it seriously, though, because he is such a doofus and the inherent doofiness that is always present in him never really fades from his constantly dorky face.

 Damn it, that was more affectionate than you meant it to be. Fuck, you're really gone, aren't you? There is no getting yourself out of this. You're totally sunk for him. 

 You're surprisingly okay with that.

 "Well, maybe if you weren't such a dipshit, you wouldn't be so easily distracted." You grumble, contrary just for the sake of being contrary. This is admittedly most of the reason that you are ever contrary.

 "Nah," John is grinning at you now, and you brace yourself for what is coming next. "I might be a dipshit, but you'll always be distracting."

 He's very close to you now, and you're aware of every part of him in relation to you. Your heart is pumping fast. You are twenty-five years old, and you feel like you're fucking sixteen all over again, dammit. You hated being sixteen.

 His hand (the one without gauze wrapped all over it) is on your face, long fingers reaching into your hair. His breath is on you, his lips so close to yours that you can almost feel them. Almost, but not quite, and even though it hasn't been a very long moment, you are _aching_ to feel them, absolutely aching, it is torture and he's so close and he's about to kiss you and you _need_ to kiss him, and

 What's that irritating beeping sound? John's ignoring it, lips gently grazing yours, still not quite kissing you and _oh shit that's the oven_

You move back from him, and the look on his face is mostly confusion, mixed with smaller amounts of concern and what looks a bit like panic (the panic could be the result of him overbalancing a bit after you moved). He seems about to ask what's wrong, but you are already at the oven, putting the oven mitt on (because you aren't a complete idiot who forgets to put on the damn oven mitt, seriously, who the hell even does that, he complained about how often his father baked and then _forgot to put on a fucking oven mitt_ , your boyfriend is an _idiot_ ).

 "Dude," He says, with no small amount of betrayal. "You ditched our upcoming makeout for cookies?"

 You turn to him, eyebrow raised, tray in hand. "I wasn't going to let them burn, and it's not like your mouth is going to disappear."

 "Maybe it will." He sniffs, turning his face away from you. You roll your eyes and set the tray on the stove. Your boyfriend is an idiot.

 "You're going to refuse to kiss me because I got cookies out of the oven," You say, taking the mitt off after placing the last tray in and walking back over to him. "Even though the reason we were in the position to kiss in the first place is because you burned yourself _getting cookies out of the oven_ , and after that, you wouldn't even let me treat your burn until I put the next tray in! The same tray I just pulled out, might I add."

 You can visibly see him struggling to come up with a rebuttal. It's funny, the way his face is twitching. It's sort of cute. You kind of want to kiss him.

 You flick his nose instead.

 "Moron." You say, and he smiles. 

 "Yeah, yeah, you're right, I'm wrong, same old story." He says, waving one hand about. It would sound bitter, but he hasn't stopped smiling, and you know him better than that. John is not the type for bitterness, not really, and if he is, you imagine that it would be for different reasons than this.

 He hops off the counter and walks over to his table, where most of the cookies are cooling. He pokes one, making sure that it is not too hot for him to pick up (he burned his fucking hand on the damn oven and he's poking a cookie, where in the massive expanse of the eternally far-reaching universe is his logic), and upon learning that the chocolate-chip disks that have been sitting there for the past twenty minutes are _not_ still molten hot, picks one up.

 "Besides, I don't think I can really argue with you on this because," He takes a bite, over-dramatically closing his eyes in pleasure. " _Cookies_."

 "Exactly." You say, picking one up for yourself and biting into it. You are using John's dad's recipe for chocolate chip cookies and they are completely amazing. John never gets to whine about his dad's baking again, never again, this is the best cookie you have ever eaten. "Holy fuck, this is like sucking the Pillsbury Doughboy's sweet, chocolate-studded dick."

 "...ew." John gives you a vaguely disgusted look, as if sucking the Pillsbury Doughboy's sweet, chocolate-studded dick does _not_ sound completely amazing and delicious in every possible way. 

 "No, not ew," You insist, taking another bite. "Delicious. I thought we'd fuck this up for sure."

 "We probably did." John shrugs. "But it takes a lot to really fuck up my Dad's recipes. He is a baking master. His skills might not have been passed down to me, but his recipes take pity on those they find to be worthy."

 "So is it one or both of us that's worthy?" You ask.

 "It's definitely me." He says, and oh hey, there's that same "serious" look. Fucking doofus.

 "Oh yeah, I'm sure that's right." You say, eyebrow raised. "Naturally you're worthy because you're his son, even though you don't understand even the most basic concepts of personal safety in relation to ovens."

 "You are never going to let that go, are you?" He asks, somewhat indignant. 

 "I have such a plethora of examples of you being a complete idiot regarding your own personal health and safety that I don't think it's _possible_ to let the topic go." You scoff. "Besides, it happened like twenty minutes ago, of course I haven't let it go yet."

 "I'm not _that_ bad," John objects, and some part of him, regardless of size, actually seems to believe it. You choose not to speak for a long moment, instead selecting the much better option of staring at him in utter shock and disbelief. You feel a strange desire welling up inside of you, one you are not sure how to process. What could this feeling be? You are not sure you can hold it back any longer.

 You laugh, loudly. You keep laughing for a longer period of time than you are used to. You laugh for so long that John actually starts looking slightly concerned, instead of just offended. 

 "You cannot be any form of serious." You manage to choke out, still chuckling. 

 "I can so!" He says, seeming to object greatly to your perfectly reasonable refusal to take him seriously. "Yeah, I get hurt sometimes, but not too often - "

 You give him a Look, and you must manage a decent one, despite the amusement still lingering on your face because he shuts up and quits whatever bullshit argument he was making a very poorly considered attempt at using.

 "Okay, fine, I get hurt a lot." He says, conceding your point rather petulantly. Or at least petulantly for John. You can see the smile fighting to get out, and he really is awful at fending off smiles. His lip is twitching endearingly, so you roll your eyes and bestow a gentle peck upon it.

 "Yes, you do. I think you can be forgiven for it, though, since you at least don't make the injuries worse once they happen." You say, your mouth settling comfortably into a crooked sort of smile. He grins back.

 "And I'll always have you to tend to my wounds, so there's definitely that to take into consideration," He says, seemingly a bit too pleased about that. "I am dating a sexy nurse. I'm the luckiest guy in the world, it is me."

 You know that your face is red, so you kiss him to hide it. You also kiss him because you want to kiss him a lot of the time, and following up on that desire isn't really a difficult thing. Plus that was a very romantic thing to say, and yeah, he totally deserves a kiss for it.

 "I think I'll be competing with you for that slot," You say, barely pulling back from the kiss, so that your lips are grazing his while you speak. He slips his hand into your hair, chuckling gently.

 "I'm totally gonna win." He says softly, and then neither of you are speaking because you are way too busy doing this kissing thing. 

 You are so busy doing the kissing thing, in fact, that those cookies you put in totally burn. They're black by the time you pull them out, and honestly, you wouldn't have broken apart to get them out of the oven at all if the smoke alarm hadn't gone off. 

 You go back to the kissing thing right after, both of you still smiling, and you think that yeah, this was definitely a glorious day, fantastic in all respects. You feel sure that it is going to be one of your favorites for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> In addition to thanking ThatCreepyGothDragon's lamp, I would also like to thank all of the people who commented on the other works in this series! It means a lot, really, it's greatly appreciated. Knowing that people enjoy these fics is what gives me the motivation to write them, and I'd like to do more. I have an idea for another that's Johnkat shippy, but I also have some that are more about the backstory of this verse, why things are the way they are, some of Karkat's thoughts. And I could probably get out some pale Karkat/Kanaya ones without any real trouble, too. Would you guys want to read that? Because I'd like to write it. I am fond of this verse, even if I didn't expect to be when I started it.
> 
> [Buy me a coffee!](https://ko-fi.com/A375K8Q)
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and I apologize for any errors.


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